


Solace

by Goodbye_YellowBrick_Road



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Music RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Suicidal Ideation, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodbye_YellowBrick_Road/pseuds/Goodbye_YellowBrick_Road
Summary: He would find solace in any way possible...
Relationships: Brian May/Chrissie Mullen, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 30





	1. Prologue

He gazed out the window, his arms folded tightly across the front of his dull green jumper, his lanky blond hair hiding his gaunt face. His entire body still shook slightly from the force of his withdrawals. He didn’t remember how he got here, to the facility. He didn’t remember who found him, saved him. He didn’t even remember what caused his bloody breakdown in the first place. All he knew was withdrawals bloody sucked, and this place sucked even more.

Roger Taylor had it all, at one point. He was the drummer in a band that he just knew would become legendary. He had three best friends, brothers really, ready and willing to help with anything, and the pick of any and every girl who he so much as batted his eyelids to. He was intelligent, well read in most every subject, and a dental student besides.

But his demons finally caught up to him, as they so often do, and he had stopped attending university classes, stopped attending the practices and the gigs Freddie, Deacy, and Brimi spent so much of their time procuring, stopped finding random girls to bed, and instead spent all his time getting drunk or high alone in his flat, until one afternoon he found himself here, in the facility, with no one left to turn to. 

His actions bloody made sure of that...

He watched the other patients having a grand time in the courtyard, feeling a jealousy bubble just below the surface. He wasn’t allowed out of his chambers just yet. He was considered a risk until the detoxification was complete. It had only been three days since he woke up in the strange room in the facility after all. His emotions were all over the place still, and he’d already socked one too many of the orderlies in the face, so being around the other patients was just too bloody risky, of course.

He rested his forehead on the window, the coldness of the pane bringing stark relief to his too warm skin. He had felt feverish for days now, and was growing tired of the feeling quickly. He needed to make a phone call. He needed to tell his mates’ where he was. He needed to make amends. He needed…

_I need a nap,_ he decided, climbing into the small cot that served as his bed for the time being. _I need to forget everything, if only for a little while. With orderlies at every turn, watching me, guarding me, my only solace is sleep._

_And if i’m lucky, perhaps I won’t wake up again..._


	2. Easy Peasy

The days soon began to blur together in a pharmaceutical haze. The different drug cocktails he was given made the world seem more muted, a blur of different colors and sounds that he just knew would look different, clearer, if he wasn’t taking the medications. He hadn’t spoken a word in either group or individual therapy, and he hadn’t touched the notebook he was given to write his thoughts or feelings down either, no matter how much the counselors or orderlies prodded him to.

He was done.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Freddie’s smile, always hidden by his hand, embarrassed. He wanted to see Brian’s look of patient concern for him, his ear always ready to listen. He wanted to see John’s look of understanding, as he also dealt with the same demons Roger did, and he  understood the road Roger took intimately. But instead he was here, in this place, screaming internally at the injustice of it all.

He lay upon the cot with the pillow over his face. The sun’s light was almost blinding after so long without it. He had been rather happy that the weather had matched his mood the whole time he had been in lock up, but today the sun decided it was time to shine, and Roger loathed it for being so happy whilst he was so down.

He was done.

He got to his feet. He didn’t  have to stay here. His hold was sure to be over by now. He could go home, go back to his life, and pretend this whole fiasco didn’t happen. He could move in with one of his friends if they were so scared of him being in his flat alone. He nodded to himself.  Great plan, Roger, he thought, patting himself on the back internally, as he stepped into his slippers that lay beside the cot.  Make the phone calls first. Then check yourself out. Easy peasy.

Later, laying alone in his cot with the blankets pulled over his head, he cried pitifully, silently, alone. He couldn’t speak. He heard Deacy’s voice on the other side of the line, and no matter how hard he tried, no sound passed his lips. He had given up when the tears started. 

He apparently wasn’t as done as he thought.

  
**** ~~~~


	3. The Night

John knew without a doubt the distressed noises on the other side of the line were Roger. John had tried without success to coax something out of him, and cried himself the moment Roger hung up the phone. It took a good while before he was able to tell Freddie and Brian who had called. He wanted more than anything to rush to the facility and take his mate in his arms, tell him it was alright, he would be alright, and that they were not replacing him in their lives.

He had tried, of course, two days into Roger’s stay, but had been turned away.  _ He wasn’t ready for visitors yet _ , the nice old lady at the front desk had replied, a smile a better man would have returned kindly on her face. John’s very best friend, his fucking brother, had almost  _ died _ , though, and he hadn’t seen him since the door to the surgery had been slammed behind them, so he really wasn’t feeling very kind.

_ He was lucky to not have been escorted off the premises in cuffs _ , Brian had commented, as though only speaking of the weather, as he dragged both him and Freddie to his car.

John was not known for  _ any _ type of violent nature, and it had surprised all three of them at how far he let himself go that afternoon.  _ There’s only room for one hysterical queen, darling, _ Freddie had quipped once they were safely enclosed in Brian’s Ford Escort, and John fell into a fit of giggles, all anger left behind. 

John felt a semblance of a smile on his face as he thought about that day. Only the second smile he had had since the night he found Roger passed out in his own vomit and bleeding profusely on the floor of his flat after checking around for him when he missed yet another rehearsal.

He lit another cigarette, concentrating on getting his breath back after thinking of that night. They had finally found a decently priced flat for the four of them so nothing like  _ that _ could happen again. They just needed Roger’s consent. He hoped that wasn't easier said than done…

He thanked the gods he listened to his gut that night and checked in on him… He didn’t know where any of them would be if he hadn’t.


	4. Anxiety Abounds

_ Why don’t you tell us about your childhood, Roger? _

Roger felt himself gulp. He had been spending most of his adult life doing his very best to forget about his damn childhood, thank you very much. He ran shaky fingers through his hair before shaking his head no. He wouldn’t have answered that even if he physically could. The counselor only nodded his head, as though he had been expecting the non-answer, before moving onto his newest roommate, Joel, with the same question.

He pulled at his hair, the pain centering himself before he did something to embarrass himself as he had numerous times. Each group session was the same. He sat with the other men and women from his floor, each wearing the standard jumper and linen pants, each wearing the same bored expression on their faces and a cigarette hanging from their mouth or fingers, and they  _ talked _ . 

Well, Roger didn’t. Roger barely listened to them  _ talk _ , his mind inadvertently busy with the haunting memories of his checkered past.

He was pleasantly surprised to learn he had been in the facility for fourteen days. He had been sober for a bleeding fortnight, his longest stretch since he began the drink at sixteen. He might not remember much of the past two weeks, but he did know he was doing better than he was his first few days in. He hadn’t injured himself or anyone else in days.

He hadn’t seen any of his mates or family throughout his stay, as the doctors decided amongst themselves he still wasn’t ready. He had scoffed, albeit silently, during his last individual therapy session. Once he actually spoke, he could see his mates again. Roger tried, he really and truly did, but his anxiety choked him each and every time.

He needed a damn drink, a little liquid courage, and he’d be fine. 

******

He stood at the telephone, his hand hovering over the dialpad. He had finally been granted a phone call after his latest brush against authority. His vocal cords may have been severed for now, but his right hook was still in proper working order. His time in solitary confinement made him need to hear the voices of his brothers, even if he himself couldn’t speak just yet.

He was getting closer with each passing day. The sounds he made resembled words now, even if no one could quite understand him. The medications had been changed once again, and the colors seemed much brighter, the sounds much less muted. His mind becoming clearer with each passing day.

Three weeks of pure hell. And it was only halfway over.

He dialed the phone number that was left at the front desk for him. He twirled the cord around his fingers as he counted each ring, a smile on his face. He could do this. He could speak to his mates. Nothing had changed. He was still _the_ outgoing Roger Taylor. Nothing had changed.

_ But it had, hadn't it? _

And he hung up the moment Brian answered the phone.


	5. Can I hug you?

Brian sighed as he hung up the phone. He knew it was Roger that called, as he was the only one with access to their new landline’s number that wasn’t already there. He turned slowly, his heart breaking at Freddie’s look of hopeful anticipation and Deacy’s look of feigned patience. He shook his head once, wincing at the wounded howl that came from Deacy’s throat. He stood still, clasping his hands in front of him, as Freddie wrapped his thin arms around Deacy, not knowing what else to do.

“We need to see him,” Brian said, folding his arms tightly across his chest. “He needs to know we are here for him. He needs to know that he isn’t alone.” He kicked the wall, anger overtaking his good sense. “Why the _fuck_ won’t they let us see him?”

Freddie took a long pull from his cigarette. “He doesn’t need any distractions right now, does he? He’s halfway through the program. Halfway home.”

John laughed, albeit rather hysterically. “He doesn’t even know where his home is now, does he? We didn’t even ask if he wanted to leave his flat. We made the decision for him. Just like everyone else in his life.” He got to his feet and began to pace. “We’re no better for him, are we? We’re no better than anyone else in his life.”

“Sit down and have a drink, Deacy. You too, Brimi. We won’t make any headway with you, John, pacing the front room and you, Brian, kicking things, will we?” He smiled when they listened and poured them each a finger of gin. “Anyone have any classes this afternoon?” He smiled at their head shakes. “Good good. Who wants to take a ride?”

“They won’t let us in, Freddie. We’ve already tried,” John pointed out cooly, after downing his gin in one gulp. “Or have you forgotten we tried that already?”

Freddie smiled. “We tried, yes, but we didn’t try hard enough, did we? What’s the worst that could happen? We are denied again? Just bat your eyes at the receptionist and she’ll be sure to let us in. You’re pretty enough for it, I suppose.”

John groaned. “I hate women, Freddie, and you know that… You do it.”

“With my teeth? Sure… That will get us far.” Freddie tapped his chin. “Brian? Take one for the team, will ya?”

Brian felt his face flush. “If I have to… She better be pretty, mate.”

  
  


******

They sat in the cramped visitors’ room, unopened bottles of coke in front of them, still amazed at their bloody luck. Brian didn’t even need to take Freddie’s suggestion and flirt with the lady at the front desk. He had to wonder if Roger would ever make an appearance, though, as he looked at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. He watched Freddie nervously tap his platformed heel on the linoleum. He watched John alternate between smoking a cigarette and biting his fingernails. He watched the bored orderly turn yet another page of a magazine without even looking at the pages. He himself just sat in the uncomfortable orange chair, his arms folded across his chest, as he waited. And waited. And waited some more.

He jumped to his feet when the door opened. His stomach dropped to his feet in looking at his best friend of so many years. He was but a shadow of his former glory. He was so much thinner. His hair, once so vibrant and healthy, lay flat and dull across his shoulders. His eyes, as blue as the clearest ocean, were hooded and somber as they took in the three of them.

John got to his feet, and slowly made his way towards Roger, his whole stance as though he was approaching some wounded animal laying in the middle of the street. “Rog? Mate? It’s… It’s so good to see you. Can I… Can I hug you?”

Roger barely nodded before he was encased in three sets of strong arms, and for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to cry.


	6. The Haunting of the Past

The telephone had rung quite early in the morning, and Roger cursed. He rolled over slowly, the loud ringing making his damn head throb. He grabbed for the receiver blindly, wanting nothing more than to hurl the whole bleeding contraption across the room. He finally grasped the receiver and brought it to his ear.

“This better be bloody important,” he growled, wincing at how loud his own voice was. Wincing at how bright the sun was through the curtains. Wincing at how terrible he felt. 

“ _It’s Mum, Rog. How are you doing, darling?”_

Roger sat up quickly and groaned as the nausea from the previous night’s drinking came upon him. “Mum? What’re you doing calling me?,” he asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since his stepfather was _finally_ brought to justice.

“ _It’s Dale, sweetheart. He was released this morning…”_

Roger dropped the telephone onto the bed, his mouth dropping open, fear lacing every bone in his body. He brought his knees up to his chest and buried his face into his knees, memories long forgotten coming to the surface, and he howled. He sobbed at the injustice of it all. He sobbed as he remembered his innocence taken from him at such a young age. He sobbed as he remembered the pain, the fists, the belts, the restraints. He sobbed as he remembered his mother standing by and watching, her delicate hands he had inherited from her over her mouth, as she sobbed along with him, but never doing anything to stop it. Hiding her face with her long curtain of blonde hair and pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

But it was. Oh it was.

*****

He lived in constant fear that Dale would find him. He lived in fear that his careful life would be uprooted. He stopped going to classes to make it harder for him to be found. 

He stopped going to the practices and the gigs, knowing how difficult it was for his mates to find a drummer to stand in, but not finding it in himself to care. He never one spoke about what was happening. He never once spoke about his fear. He drowned it in alcohol and cigarettes and the occasional recreational drug, needing something, anything, to dull the constant barrage of his mind.

Deacy, sweet Deacy, didn’t leave his side often. He sat by silently, watching Roger’s downward spiral, helping him to bed when he finally passed out whenever he was around. Roger liked it when Deacy was there, because he didn’t wake up on the floor in a pool of his own vomit, feeling even more unclean than he already did each passing day.

“ _What is going on, Rog? You can talk to me, you know?,”_ John had said one night, after watching Roger snort line after line of cocaine. “ _I want to help you. Let me help you.”_

But by then, Roger had stopped talking.

*****

It didn't take long for the boys to figure out what had happened. It was plastered on the front page of most news outlets. " _Up and coming drummer's past revealed"._ He stopped opening the door for Deacy. He stopped opening the door for Brian. Freddie, dear Freddie, never took a closed door to heart. He would sit in the hallway just outside Roger's flat and talk. His soft voice would make Roger stop whatever he was doing, and just sit on the other side of the door, yearning for interaction, but terrified for it. Freddie would talk about his family's goings on, his own classes, the latest gig that " _just will never be the same until you are back, darling boy,"_ and slide Roger's own homework under the door. 

He was thankful for Freddie. He was thankful for Deacy. He was thankful for Brian. They made him feel less alone. Less worthless.

If only he could tell them that.


	7. Hope for the Future

They moved to the small table slowly, carefully disentangling, with no one wanting the closeness of their embrace to end. Roger sat beside John, his smaller hand never leaving John’s, with Freddie directly across from him. Brian moved his chair to sit at the end of the table, taking Roger’s other hand in his own. Roger smiled, finally feeling happy, _normal,_ for the first time in months. 

John pushed a few stray hairs out of Roger’s face gently, his calloused fingers bringing a strange sort of serenity to Roger’s mind: something he had dearly missed since being away from them all. “How are you feeling, love? We missed you so much,” John said, as he worried his bottom lip. Roger looked even worse than the night he found him, which was saying a lot... He smiled brightly at Roger’s disgruntled moan. “That’s a stupid question, innit?”

“Just a tad,” Brian replied, a soft smile on his face, squeezing Roger’s hand.

“More than,” Freddie piped in, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table.

“Helpful, aren’t you, arseholes?,” John asked, rolling his eyes, but inwardly pleased at the banter. Roger needed a sense of normalcy, didn’t he? Nothing was more normal than this. “We heard you are still having a difficult time speaking, so we thought we would chat it up and you can speak up if you wish to. You can leave us at any time and we won’t be hurt or upset with you. We plan to stay with you as long as you wish us to, or until they kick us out. Whichever comes first. Does that sound okay?”

Roger nodded slowly, his eyes widening slightly. He didn’t expect them to understand his struggles in all his dreaming of their first meeting in so long. He should have, though. They were family. 

“We don’t mind if you stay quiet, mate. We understand,” Brian said, squeezing his hand again. “You’ve had a rough go of it lately, and we didn’t even realize the full extent until it was too late.”

“We are a team, aren’t we? And we failed you,” Freddie said quietly, looking down at the table. “We hope you can forgive us for not seeing your pain. We should have bloody realized it when…”

“No, Fred,” John interrupted, shaking his head crossly. “We said we wouldn’t bring that up.”

“No, you said we shouldn’t. I never agreed,” Freddie countered, rolling his eyes.

“I agree with John,” Brian said, glaring at Freddie.

“Of course you do.”

Roger shook his head, wishing not for the first time his mind would allow him to speak. Dale took everything away from him, it seemed. “You… You…,” He attempted, before shaking his head again. He pulled out the small notebook and a dulled pencil from his pocket.

_Don’t fight,_ he wrote. _I don’t want to talk or hear about_ him, _either. Not today._

They smiled at him kindly. “Then we won’t,” Freddie said with a shrug.

Roger allowed their conversation to wash over him, a smile barely straying from his face. He needed this. He needed his pack around him. He needed to be treated normally, and not like a ticking time bomb like most of the orderlies here. He needed normalcy whilst in this prison more than ever. He had a place to go home to, which made his heart happy. He knew being away from his flat for so long it would have gone to someone else soon enough. He spent many a night fretting about the future, and now he had one less thing to worry about. 

“And Brian has a girlfriend now…”

Roger looked at him with a fond smile on his face and squeezed his hand tight. He was happy for his mate, but not for the first time he wondered when it would be his turn to be actually happy. When it would be his turn to put his past behind him and to enjoy a relationship that actually lasts. John didn’t deserve dealing with Roger’s moods all the time, and picking up the pieces time after time, too worried for him to leave.

“I... have to... talk,” he managed to rasp out, ignoring the gasps of his friends and the orderly that watched over him daily. “Or… He wins… Don’t he?”

John wrapped his arms around Roger, fighting back tears. “Oh, love, I am so proud of you.”

Brian and Freddie echoing his statement.

And that was the day it all changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the positive responses to this story! I am having a good time writing this and hope you all continue to enjoy!


	8. Fake It Till You Make It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, hasn't it? I ended up in the hospital myself a few weeks ago, and it's been slow going picking up the pieces of my life. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. KIND comments and kudos as always are appreciated!

He looked up at the white painted ceiling, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He lay upon the unmade cot, his brow furrowed in anger. As wonderful as it was to be feeling  _ something _ , anything at all, he knew this much anger unchecked would only lead to more problems for him. He had yet another meeting with the psychiatrist which ended in the same way.  _ Let’s check back in a few days. _ Those ‘few days’ had become months. Even in his most apathetic state he knew he had been here for far too long.

His mates had continued to visit him every day until either he had had enough, or visiting hours were done for the day. He allowed their good natured bantering to wash over him, sometimes taking part himself, but mostly staying quiet. He mentioned once or thrice he would check himself out of this place without his doctors’ consent after harsh days in counseling, but it was John’s quiet reprimands that kept him from going through with it.

But  _ God _ how he wished he could just do it.

He threw his legs over the side of the unmade cot, his roommate’s snores beside him becoming much too much to handle in his state. He made the decision to do more, to  _ be _ more, and prove he was healthy enough to make it on the outside of these walls. He’d take these  _ few days _ and channel the old Roger in every movement.  _ What’s the old saying? Fake it till you make it, or some tosh?, _ he wondered, turning the shower on as hot as it would go.

He had to do something, at least. He was going bloody insane here...

*****

  
  


It was a long, hard road, but finally,  _ finally _ his release date was upon him. Roger couldn’t help but smile as the orderly brought him the clothes (real bloody clothes! How he missed them...) his mates had brought for him. His favorite outfit was still a bit too big, but it fit better now than it would have a few weeks prior. He buttoned his denims with a goofy smile on his face. 

His roommate glared at him.

He had been doing well since his breakthrough. He had spoken up in therapy. He began eating almost everything on his plates. His anger had almost fizzled to nothing. He had taken showers almost every day, and even brushed his hair. His counselors were quite happy with his progress, as were his friends when they made it to see him. He threw his old Beatles shirt over his head with a sigh.

His roommate glared even harder.

“It’s been real, mate. Best of luck,” he said to Joel over his shoulder as he scurried out of the room. Joel had been standoffish since their first meeting, and he knew without a doubt there would be no love lost with him. He heard Joel mutter something, just too low for him to hear, and didn’t care. 

It’s not like he’d ever see the old man again once he left.

He almost ran down the hallway in his excitement when he saw Brian, Freddie, and Deacy standing at the front desk. His smile widened when he took in how uncomfortable they seemed whilst no doubt hearing how best to help him adjust to the outside world again. Sophia enjoyed striking fear into people. He’d be just fine.

“Rog!,” Freddie exclaimed, a bright smile that he didn’t even bother to hide on his face, the moment he saw him.

“Mate! So good to see you,” Brian said, wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“I’ve missed you,” John said quietly, kissing the top of Roger’s head gently.

Roger felt tears spring in his eyes. “I’ve missed all you knuckleheads, too,” he said softly, his voice still raspy from disuse, hugging John tightly. “But you... So, so much,” he whispered into his ear. He pulled away slowly, keeping John’s hand in his own. “Let’s get out of this shite hole, mates. I’m ready to go home.”

“And home is ready for you,” Freddie replied, smiling as he watched Roger caress John’s hand with his thumb. “I decorated your room myself, so you know it’s wonderful.”

“It’s gaudy, mate,” Brian said, a soft smile on his face. “I recommend changing it up as soon as possible.”

“I resent that remark, Bri,” Freddie said, the smile on his face belying the cross tone of his voice. “I poured my heart and soul into that room.”

“Of course you did, Freddie. I appreciate it,” Roger replied, feeling truly happy for the first time in a long while.

“You haven’t seen it yet,” John whispered into his ear, and it took all of Roger’s self control not to moan as the hot breath sent shivers down his entire body.


End file.
